The summer of 1988 brought one of the favorite assignments of my career - and a very eventful one, at that: The Olympics in Seoul, Korea.

The adventure began with a very long plane trip on Korean Air from New York's Kennedy Airport to Seoul, by way of Anchorage, AK, where the plane stopped for fuel. Passengers had to deplane during the refueling process and I took the opportunity in this pre-9/11 era to walk out of the security area and out to the driveway in front of the terminal.

I strolled down the driveway for a couple of hundred yards so I could say I had actually been in Alaska. It might be cheating a bit, but I can honestly say I've at least put my feet down in all 50 states.

The trip to Korea, along with about 100 other AP people on the plane, was one of the best I've ever enjoyed, despite the length. My seat was unfortunately in the middle of the five-across part of the main cabin. But it was so smooth that the cabin crew set up a buffet at the rear of the jumbo jet and I spent a good portion of the flight from Anchorage to Seoul standing by the table, nibbling on a variety of treats and chatting with other AP types. That was a lot of fun and it made the trip go much faster.

We were taken by bus from the Seoul airport to the Olympic press compound, where we checked into a brand new three-bedroom condos in a pair of high-rise buildings. They all had indoor-outdoor carpeting on the floor, which we were told later was to protect the hardwood from scuffing, since all of the condos were sold and would welcome their Korean owners immediately after the Olympics.

It was a few days before the start of the Olympics, so we all had time to acclimate and do a little sight-seeing.

A couple of us went to the Etaewon District that first day. Etaewon is known as a great shopping area for tourists and had just about any kind of product - most of them counterfeit. Rip-offs of Adidas and Nike were big at the time.

As we strolled along the bustling street, we were approached by a young and very pretty Korean girl. She looked at my companion, who shall remain nameless, said, "You want Michelob?"

He looked at her, smiled and said, "It's too early for beer." She looked totally confused and walked away.

Suddenly, we both realized that what she had actually said was, "You want maka love?" For the rest of the trip, he was known as "Mick."

A friend of my dad's had told me that, while I was in Seoul, I had to buy a made-to-order suit. I had never had any kind of made-to-order clothes, but I was told they were inexpensive and well made. He even gave me the name of the shop in Etaewon where he had his suits made.

It was a heady experience as I picked out the suit material and the material for the lining as I was measured in the most extensive way. I had to pay up front and the tailor said he would gladly deliver the suit to me at the press compound in a week or 10 days, long before we were scheduled to leave.

The next day, the Main Press Center, where I would spend the first 10 days or so before freestyle wrestling began, opened. I immediately ran into lots of people I knew from newspapers and other wire services and it was very social.

There were tons of places to eat nearby and we were also able to dine in the cafeteria in the press compound, which was open 24 hours a day and served an international menu, giving everyone choices that might be familiar or ones that were totally foreign.

By the second day, all the AP people were on the ground in Seoul and one of my roommates, who I had heard of but never met, showed up looking terrible. It turns out he was already homesick and miserable and literally could not sleep.

By the third night, I heard him wandering around the apartment at around 3 a.m. and went out to see what I could do. He looked like death warmed over and I suggested we take him to the medical office, which also was open 24 hours. He fainted on the way and I and a passerby carried him the rest of the way.

The medical staff checked him out and said he just needed to sleep. They gave him some pills and sent us home. It was time for me to go to work, but he was not on duty yet and was still sound asleep when I came home that night. He was okay for the rest of the time in Seoul, but it was a scary start.

My time in the Main Press Center was spent mostly writing about the results of minor sports, doing rewrites and taking phone calls. The best part was lunch time.

Just down the street from the MPC was the high-rise Hyundai Department Store. It was a high-end store, but the basement was an amazing food court that had, among many other things, a booth that sold more than 100 types of kimchi, i.e. fermented cabbage.

I found I really enjoyed the free tastings. Most of the choices were very spicy and each day I would buy a different one and take it back with me to the MPC for anyone who wanted to try it. I've tried it in the U.S., but it doesn't taste the same.

Different groups of AP people would get together in the evenings for dinner or drinks and one foray was particularly fun, although it didn't start out that way.

Someone had told NY Sports staffer Marv Schneider about a really good Korean restaurant a cab ride from the MPC. He gathered up a group including me and two other NY Sports staffers.

Before getting into the taxi, Marv handed the cab starter a piece of paper with the name and address of the restaurant. The starter showed it to the cabbie, who nodded as if he knew the place. We're not even sure he could read because he simply cruised around the streets of Seoul for the next 20 minutes, finally stopping at a crowded bus stop to show the piece of paper to people there and ask if they knew the place.

No one did.

Marv tried to converse with the driver, but he just smiled and nodded and kept driving. Finally, he spotted another taxi from the same company and flagged it down. The next thing we knew, we were being ushered into the other cab. We tried to give the guy some money for his time, but he turned bright red and refused, simply saying, "Go, go!" and pointing us toward the other cab.

It took less than five minutes to reach the restaurant from there. It was in a mostly residential neighborhood and the menu was entirely in Korean, although it did have pictures of the food. It was a mom and pop place, with only mom and pop working. They spoke no English.

We pointed to the meals we wanted and waited. Within minutes, food started pouring out of the kitchen. It was very, very good and just kept coming. Apparently, they decided to make us everything on the menu.

I said, "I wonder how much this is going to cost us?" We all checked to see how much Yuan we had among us, knowing they were not likely to take a credit card.

When the bill finally arrived, after we were all totally sated, it figured out to about $8 U.S. apiece, which was ridiculous. We left a giant tip and managed to flag down a cab nearby. Going back was easy because everyone in Seoul knew the MPC.

Finally, my sport began. And, this time, I was covering it by myself.

I knew U.S. coach Dan Gable and several of the wrestlers from my time covering the LA Olympics and, again, the Americans had a very strong team. The wrestling venue was on a small college campus outside of Seoul.

This time, the grandstands were full for every session and it was loud and fun to cover the matches. The breaks were fun, too, because I got into the habit of ordering a bowl of raman noodles for my lunches and dinners. After buying the bowl of dry noodles, you walked to a nearby kiosk, where a vendor poured VERY hot water into the bowl and mixed it with a wooden spoon,

Once it cooled down enough, it was one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten. Korea was definitely a great eating experience.

The last day of the wrestling competition proved challenging.

I found myself the last person in the arena by the time I finished writing after the finals. I had taken one of the MPC buses to the arena, probably a five or six mile ride. When I walked outside, there were no buses and not a single person anywhere to be seen. I tried to get back into the building to use my phone, but the doors were all locked.

I walked around the building and stood by the quiet main road out front for several minutes. The school was out-of-session for the Olympics and not a car went by. I wasn't sure I could find my way back to the MPC, even if I could walk that far. Finally, I noticed what looked like a farm house about a quarter mile away. I walked to the house and knocked on the door. A middle-aged Korean man appeared and started chattering in Korean. With only two or three words of Korean in my vocabulary, it was almost impossible to make him understand that I wanted him to call me a cab. Then I happened to mention my destination was the Main Press Center.

The local news was full of Olympics coverage and the MPC was being mentioned continuously. He held up his hand in a gesture that I assumed meant wait here. Moments later, wearing a jaunty hat and a smile, he waved for me to follow him. We got into his pickup truck and, without any further conversation, he drove me to the MPC. I tried to thank him as I got out of the truck, but he just smiled and waved and was gone.

I really wish that I had had enough Korean to at least properly thank that man.

The night after the Olympics ended, Sports Editor Darrell Christian and Deputy Sports Editor Terry Taylor hosted a dinner cruise down the Han River. It was a beautiful evening and we cruised all the way to the security signs announcing the North Korean border before turning back. There was plenty of food, but we ran out of beer and talked the captain into stopping at a small village along the way to restock.

Another interesting part of the trip was the fact that the Jewish High Holy Days - Rosh Hoshanah and Yom Kippur _ fell during my time in Seoul. One of the AP hierarchy was able to get an invitation from Yongsan, the  U.S. Army base in Seoul, to allow Jewish staffers to attend services. The security was high, but our Olympic credentials and a passport were enough to get us in.

The services were conducted by a orthodox rabbi from Chicago, who was also a Naval officer with the Sixth Fleet. He flew to Seoul along with a dozen or more Jewish sailors. The services were also attended by a couple of Korean Jews, dressed in traditional costume, as well as several U.S. athletes.

Finally, it was time to leave and I realized that my suit still had not shown up. I tried calling the shop, but got only an answering machine with a message in Korean. I left several messages, just hoping for the best.

We were scheduled to leave for the airport after breakfast on that final morning. The phone rang in our apartment at 5:30 a.m. Worrying that something might be wrong at home, I jumped out of bed and answered.

It was a security officer telling me that a Korean man was at the entrance to the press compound, trying to deliver a suit to me. I quickly got dressed and raced out to get it. Talk about timing. And I wore that suit for years, although it had to be altered several times.

 

The trip home was a 13-hour, non-stop from Seoul to Kennedy. Judy met me at the airport and she later said I was in and out of consciousness on the drive back to New Jersey. I don't even remember the day after arriving home. The jet lag was the worst of my life. But the trip was incredible.